


Once

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Bathtubs, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Inline with canon, Interlude, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oowada splashes into the water before Ishimaru has entirely submerged; his entrance sends a wave of liquid up over the prefect’s face so he comes up spluttering." The follow-up to Ishimaru and Oowada's sauna competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bath

Compared to the sauna, the heat of the bath is nearly cool. It soothes the flush from Ishimaru’s skin -- he can see his arms returning from a worrying red to their more normal pale tone, and when he leans back into the water his whole body aches pleasantly. Oowada splashes into the water before Ishimaru has entirely submerged; his entrance sends a wave of liquid up over the prefect’s face so he comes up spluttering.

“Hey,” he protests weakly, but Oowada grins bright at him until Ishimaru laughs instead and pushes the damp of his hair back from his forehead. Oowada’s own hair is soaked flat down his neck and shoulders, longer than Ishimaru expected it to be. The prefect laughs and reaches out to pull at the strands.

“You’ve got really nice hair.” The locks are dripping wet and wavy, curling against Ishimaru’s fingers when he pulls at them. “Isn’t it hard to take care of it?”

Oowada shrugs, reclining back against the side of the tub and bringing his arms up to stretch out on the edge to hold himself up. He tips his head, grinning at Ishimaru’s wide-eyed expression. “Sure. Still, ain’t it worth it for the final effect?”

Ishimaru laughs and pulls at the end before letting go. “I like it down, but I could never manage it myself. It would take a lot of effort to keep it under control.”

“Damn straight.” Oowada slides off the edge, drops back to the water so his hair fans out around him in a rippling wave. Ishimaru watches the shift of the strands under the water until Oowada comes back up and drags the wet weight of it back up. He stretches, looks sideways, and catches Ishimaru staring at him.

“Admiring?” He twists away so his half-covered shoulders are facing the other boy. “You can keep touching it, if you want. It feels good to have someone else playing with it ‘stead of just me trying to pull it up.”

Ishimaru smiles and comes forward, tucks one leg up against his chest so he can thread his fingers through the other boy’s hair. The locks are heavy with moisture and slowly dripping into the water below them; Oowada sighs in pleasure and tips his head forward at the pull on his scalp. Ishimaru continues, pressing water out of the other’s hair until it goes fluffy and curls around his fingers.

They both go silent for a minute, until even the soft splash of water against the sides of the bath subsides. It’s Oowada who speaks, eventually, without moving to pull his hair free.

“‘S nice.” For a minute Ishimaru thinks the other is still talking about the tug on his hair until Oowada clears his throat and continues. “Relaxing, I mean. Having someone to trust.”

“I’d think this would be easier for you.” Ishimaru says. “I mean, danger is something you’re used to, isn’t it?”

“Not on my own.” Oowada tips his head back to press his scalp harder against Ishimaru’s touch. “Always had my gang with me, y’know? Could count on them more than I could count on myself.” There’s a shadow there, under his words, but Ishimaru doesn’t comment. “But in here…” He trails off.

“It’s the opposite for me,” Ishimaru offers in return. “I mean, there’s fewer people here, but I didn’t have anyone out on the outside either. It was less dangerous, though. It’s weird to think that I could die at any moment.”

“Least you got a brother out of it, right?” Oowada twists to toss a grin over his shoulder at Ishimaru. “Ain’t that worth some danger?”

With Oowada smiling at him it seems like it might be worth it, for this moment alone, and Ishimaru smiles back without having to think about it at all.

“Yeah, it is,” he says, but his voice twists odd and tight back in his throat while his blood shivers under his skin. He chokes on his inhale and bursts into a coughing fit, and when he comes back up Oowada is watching him with a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell was that?” he asks. His voice is level but Ishimaru can see the tension in the twist in his neck, muscle and tendon pulling tight under his skin.

“What was what?” the prefect asks, though he can still feel an excess of heat burning under his skin, radiating out from the texture against his fingers.

“You had a  _tone_.” Oowada turns farther towards him, sets his palm flat between them so he can lock out his elbow and brace himself against the bottom of the bath. “C’mon, you heard it too.” His eyes drag down the other boy’s skin and Ishimaru flushes painfully red even though he’s not got anything to  _hide_.

“What?!” Ishimaru protests, rocking back. “What are you  _talking_  about, I --”

Oowada’s just watching him, not flinching back or hitting him or anything, and when Ishimaru sputters to a stop he offers half-a-grin.

“You want me to spell it out for you? I thought you’d be kinda quicker with a hint.”

“Uh. But.” Ishimaru is blushing in waves of heat, ripples of warm sweeping over his cheeks as he tries to not meet Oowada’s eyes. “We’re...brothers?” It comes out like far more of a question than he intends it to, and Oowada laughs over the upswing at the end of the word.

“Not the way you were lookin’ at me. Be honest.” He leans in, eyebrow still raised, until his shoulder bumps against Ishimaru’s skin. The other boy rocks back and squeaks involuntarily, but he doesn’t blink and doesn’t look away from the shadows of Oowada’s eyelashes against his cheek. “Come on, man. Is this new for you like having a friend is?”

“I don’t --” Ishimaru starts, but Oowada heaves a gusty sigh and cuts him off.

“I’m just gonna say that’s a ‘yes,’ okay? Look, I got this. You trust me, right?”

Ishimaru hesitates and Oowada talks over him. “Didja change your mind about that in the last two minutes? You trust me to not kill you, that should be the biggest thing, right?”

“Y -- yes,” Ishimaru stutters, and Oowada grins and reaches out to grab the other’s shoulder.

“Good. Just relax, then, okay?”

Ishimaru can’t. He has to sneak up on relaxation at the best of times, and right now it’s the last thing he can imagine achieving. Oowada doesn’t wait for him to calm down or even take a deep breath; he leans in close, so close that Ishimaru starts to pull back and choke, “Wait, what are you --” before Oowada’s mouth closes over his.

Ishimaru freezes, stiff with panic and shock, and his brain flickers quiet for a span of heartbeats. Oowada’s fingers on his arm squeeze tighter, then looser, and then the other boy is pulling away and the hand against Ishimaru’s arm lifts away. Ishimaru’s eyes focus on Oowada’s face; the other boy is watching him, chin tipped down so he’s looking up through his eyelashes at the prefect’s face.

“What…” Ishimaru says, the word coming slow and dragging to his tongue. Oowada grins, his teeth catching the light so they shine brilliant white.

“Didja like it?”

“What?” Ishimaru is still processing the tingle of sensation against his mouth and the flush of heat sweeping fast and hot under his skin, and it’s hard to really take in the meaning of the other boy’s words.

“Did you like it?” Oowada hasn’t leaning back or raised his chin from its forward lean. “Me kissing you. You could try it in the other direction, if you want.”

“I don’t -- what? Why did you…?”

“You were looking at me like you wanted to  _lick_  me,” Oowada grins, and Ishimaru chokes in shock and on the mental image that burns like fire in his veins. “Did you just lose control of your face, or did you like that?”

“I...I was looking at you like that?” Ishimaru shakes his head and tries to pull his thoughts together. “It was -- I liked it.” He pauses, thinks for a moment, nods decisively. “Yes. I liked it.”

“Oh good,” Oowada smirks. “Me too.” He leans back and brings his arms back up to rest on the edge of the pool. “C’mon, you owe me.”

“Huh?” Ishimaru sputters, but after a moment he swallows and comes in on his knees, reaches out to balance himself against Oowada’s shoulder. The other boy’s body is hot and shifts slightly under the pressure of Ishimaru’s hand, and the distance to his mouth is much farther than he expects, but Oowada doesn’t move or protest as Ishimaru comes forward, and after a breath of hesitation Ishimaru lands his mouth against the other boy’s.

Oowada hums, and when he smiles his lips part and he slicks his tongue over Ishimaru’s lips until the other boy opens his mouth and mirrors the motion. Oowada leans in gently and Ishimaru’s grip on his shoulder goes tighter, steadying his balance while his heart speeds under his skin. Fingers come up against his ribcage and he jumps and topples sideways into the water, and he can feel Oowada laugh against his mouth before their lips separate.

“You okay?” he asks, and Ishimaru takes a shaky breath.

“I’m not...sure.”

“You done that before?” Oowada asks. His hand is still against Ishimaru’s skin, shifting idly so it pulls ripples of water in its wake below the surface.

“No,” he manages, honesty seeming the best choice in the situation. “I thought...you’re supposed to kiss girls?”

“Don’t have to.” Oowada shrugs one-shouldered. “Unless you want to. And I want to kiss  _you_.”

“Okay,” Ishimaru says, for lack of anything more coherent, and they both lean in towards each other until their mouths make contact again. Oowada’s hair catches on Ishimaru’s collarbones, and the other boy’s hand locks down against Ishimaru’s waist to hold him steady. After a moment Ishimaru gets his hands up in some imitation of the other, seeks out handholds on Oowada’s hip and the other boy’s neck, and Oowada chuckles against his mouth and pulls him in an inch closer. Their legs are tangled together, Ishimaru’s weight is tipped oddly forward on his knees so he’s just on the edge of falling, and Oowada’s tongue is dragging hot over his and the other boy tastes foreign and the sensation is oddly warm, hotter than the water around them, and when Ishimaru slides his knee forward to catch his balance he comes in against Oowada’s chest, and that’s the point he realizes he’s hard.

The blush comes hard on the heels of this epiphany, followed by a scrambling rush to get backwards that totally defeats the goal, however impossible, of keeping Oowada from noticing. The other boy is grinning at Ishimaru by the time he can manage to look up and make eye contact, his eyebrows raised so high it brings another wave of color to the prefect’s cheeks.

“Calm down,” Oowada says. He comes forward through the water, approaches until he can reach out to grab the edge of the bath and pin Ishimaru where he is between his arms. It feels like a cage and his arms are brushing Ishimaru’s shoulders and the prefect can’t breathe properly and his erection is totally failing to get itself under control. “Shit man, it’s kinda the goal, ain’t it?” He leans in to kiss Ishimaru’s lower lip, and his hip comes in against the other boy’s leg and Ishimaru can feel Oowada’s half-hard length against his skin, and he makes an odd whimpering noise and rocks up against the resistance without thinking.

Oowada groans, and presses down farther, and the self-consciousness freezing Ishimaru in place melts under the  _sound_  coming from the other boy’s throat. There’s another moan, and it’s not until Ishimaru’s mouth is against Oowada’s again that he realizes that it came from  _his_  throat, and then Oowada moves his arm and reaches down under the water to  _touch_  him, and Ishimaru presses up into the contact and whimpers and forgets to be embarrassed.

It’s totally different to have Oowada’s hands against him instead of his own. The other boy’s hands are bigger, and the calluses across his palms are strange and unfamiliar, and he’s not stroking so much as exploring, sliding his fingers surprisingly gently against whatever he can reach: Ishimaru’s erection, his hip, his leg, sparking response everywhere he goes. The prefect isn’t touching the other boy at all, at least not with his hands; he has a clinging, desperate grip against the back of Oowada’s neck and the other boy’s shoulder, and he’s rocking up against the other’s touch and pressing his leg against Oowada’s length whenever he moves, but there’s no deliberation to his movements, just instinct and want.

It’s fine while their movements remain random, but as Oowada finds a pattern for his fingers Ishimaru catches the rhythm as well, and between them the ripples across the water are distracting enough to pull the prefect’s attention away until he goes still, self-awareness coming back into his overheated brain.

“This is --” He pauses. “This is really unsanitary.”

Oowada goes still and for a moment Ishimaru thinks he’s going to pull away. Then the other boy barks a laugh and brings his head in to breathe out against the prefect’s neck.

“That’s seriously what you’re thinking of?” he says, but he sound more amused than irritated. “And it’s not. Yet.”

“Well,” Ishimaru says. Oowada closes his fingers around the prefect’s length properly, pulls one smooth stroke up against him, and Ishimaru hisses and gasps for air.

Ishimaru can hear the laughter in Oowada’s voice when he speaks again. “But it’s gonna be, yeah?”

Ishimaru makes an effort to relax his grip. He even succeeds, although his hands are shaking with adrenaline when he lets them go. “Yeah.”

Oowada hums -- Ishimaru can feel the sound through his skin -- and pulls away from the prefect’s lingering fingers on his shoulder and hair. “Okay. Let’s go back up to my room.”

“Yours?” Ishimaru stays without thinking. Oowada drags his hair back one-handed and shoots him a grin.

“Yeah, mine. ‘Less you wanna jerk yourself off all alone? I promise it’ll be more fun with me.”

Ishimaru flushes dark and Oowada grins and steps out of the water. Ishimaru’s eyes drop to the other boy’s erection, standing out stiff from his body, and he makes an involuntary whine in the back of his throat. If he weren’t already blushing as hard as he can manage the wave of self-conscious heat would be clear on his skin, and when Oowada glances at him and grins again he finds reserves of embarrassment he has never before experienced.

“C’mon,” Oowada says, moving for his towel. Ishimaru climbs out in his wake while the other boy’s back is turned, pointlessly self-aware in spite of the lingering sensation of Oowada’s hands against him, and gets his own towel wrapped around his hips while Oowada’s back is turned. That gets him another sharp grin when Oowada turns back, but the other boy doesn’t say anything about it, just jerks his head towards their clothes and says, “You feel like waiting?”

Ishimaru doesn’t think he’s ever gotten dressed so quickly in his life.


	2. Bed

Ishimaru refuses to take the lead when they leave the bath. He blushes and fidgets like walking to the other boy’s room is a presumption after having their hands all over each other. It’s silly but Oowada doesn’t bother with teasing the prefect, just takes the lead down the hallway and lets Ishimaru trail in his wake. For all that the other is hesitant to lead the way he is quick to follow, so close on Oowada’s heels that he kicks him more than one with those damn boots and the other boy can hear the prefect’s breath coming fast with anticipation just over his shoulder.

Oowada doesn’t need to be rushed. He’s already going as fast as he can manage, taking long strides so Ishimaru has to half-run every third step to keep up. The hallways are deserted, everyone else obediently in their room, so there is no one to see the way Oowada’s jeans are pulling tight in the front or the crimson flush that is undoubtedly still across Ishimaru’s cheeks. And there is no one to see when Oowada gets the door to his room open and they both tumble inside, Ishimaru so close behind him that they pass through the door at once.

It’s not until the passage is shut behind them that the prefect seems to recall some of his nervousness. He looks at Oowada and away, catching his hands on each other in a motion that he would surely control if he were aware of it, and edges backwards until his shoulders hit the wall. Oowada leans back and doesn’t move, watches the other boy retreat and avoid his own gaze until he is forced to examine the room in lieu of making eye contact.

“It’s almost the same as mine,” he says, pointlessly. They all saw Naegi’s room after that first murder, and Monokuma declared that the rooms are identical, at least between the boys. There’s not enough in the room itself to make it really individual, although Oowada has a suspicion that Ishimaru’s bed is actually made instead of a tangle of sheets like his own.

“Yeah?” he says, and steps forward. Ishimaru’s gaze jerks up to his face instantly, as if Oowada is calling his name, mouth still open around whatever he was going to saw. Oowada’s not even that close, really, but the prefect’s scarlet eyes go wide with something that is part anticipation and part nerves, and as the larger boy comes in close enough to touch Ishimaru follows his movement. By the time Oowada is in the prefect’s personal space Ishimaru’s head is tipped back to compensate for the extra inch or two of height Oowada has on him. When he licks his lips Oowada is certain it’s unconscious, but the other boy’s tongue catches on the heat-chapped skin of his mouth, and it’s very hard to not pin him back against the wall.

Oowada resists, though. When he reaches out he’s touching, not shoving, and when his hands come down on Ishimaru’s shoulders he can feel the worst of the tension bleed out of the other boy’s body.

“Breathe,” he reminds him, and Ishimaru is just starting an inhale when Oowada leans in and interrupts the reflex with his mouth against the other boy’s. His lips  _are_  chapped, Oowada noticed that back in the bath too, and they catch sticky on Oowada’s rather than sliding smooth against skin. Ishimaru’s hair is cut very short along the back of his neck, it brushes soft over Oowada’s fingers, and when the larger boy pulls gently the smaller comes in, takes a half-step forward and reaches out to curl his fingers around the leather of Oowada’s jacket to hold him close.

 _He’s a natural_ , Oowada thinks, and feels Ishimaru go stiff and panicked under his hands and has to append,  _When he relaxes_.

He pulls back just an inch, says, “Calm down,” and Ishimaru makes a strangled sound of pure panic that has no indication of obeying the other boy’s command. Oowada laughs, and pushes the prefect back against the wall as he didn’t before, and panic flickers into shock in those red eyes for just a moment.

“Okay,” he says, maintaining his hold on the other boy’s shoulder. “Let’s try distraction then,” and before Ishimaru has a chance to react Oowada’s on him and against him, shoving the other boy back against the soundproof wall by the force of his shoulders so his hands are free to curl around the back of the other’s neck and the narrow diameter of his wrist. Ishimaru whimpers but it sounds more like surprise than rejection so Oowada doesn’t pull back. He crushes his mouth against the other boy’s and Ishimaru’s lips part without any prompting at all; Oowada’s not sure if that’s deliberate or instinctive at this point but he’s happy to accept the invitation, and when he slides his tongue inside the other boy’s mouth Ishimaru sighs and opens his mouth wider.

Oowada’s fingers slide down against the collar of Ishimaru’s high jacket, tracing out the lines of the other boy’s neck and shoulders under the crisp fabric, and after a moment the prefect’s free hand comes up against the larger boy’s chest and pushes against the sleeves of his leather jacket. Oowada lets his hold on Ishimaru’s wrist go, angles his arm back so his jacket slides half-off, and when he reaches out to return the favor and work Ishimaru’s jacket open the other boy gasps like he’s been shocked and drops back against the wall without being pushed. It’s easy to get the thing open, at least, so Oowada barely has time to get impatient before his hands are sliding over the hard lines of Ishimaru’s chest. The prefect is far thinner than Oowada himself, narrower shoulders and leaner muscles, but he’s far more muscular than Oowada originally gave him credit for, and he  _shivers_  under the other boy’s hands so Oowada can feel the ripple run straight through the other’s body. He shifts his feet to get one foot between Ishimaru’s -- it takes a light kick at the other’s boots before he moves his feet apart at all -- and rocks his weight forward to press his thigh against the other boy’s hips, and the prefect  _moans_  and rocks forward so hard and so fast that his forehead hits Oowada’s shoulder with bruising force.

“Woah,” Oowada protests, pushing back until Ishimaru’s shoulders are up against the wall again and on the verge of laughter. “You okay?”

The prefect isn’t looking at him. His eyes are shut and Oowada’s thoughts stall out briefly on how  _thick_  the other’s dark eyelashes are spread out across his pale cheek, and his mouth is open so he can gasp for breath until Oowada comes in to kiss against his parted lips. Ishimaru laughs into his mouth, and when Oowada leans back the prefect’s eyes are open again and he’s more or less looking at the other boy, although he’s rocking against the pressure of Oowada’s leg and probably doesn’t realize it.

“No,” he says, and it takes Oowada a minute to piece together the question that Ishimaru is answering. “I...I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure I’m --”

“You ain’t got any  _time_  to be not sure,” Oowada cuts him off. “I’ll stop if you wanna stop. Should I stop?”

There is a pause, but it’s shorter than Oowada expects. Ishimaru’s eyes go unfocused for a moment, just enough time for the larger boy to take a breath and try to prepare himself for a refusal. Then the prefect shakes his head, sharp; his eyes are still wide and his lip is trembling with nerves, but the gesture is perfectly clear even before he says, “No, I don’t want you to stop,” with a voice that doesn’t shake at all.

“Good choice,” Oowada grins, and steps back. “Get on the bed,” he says before Ishimaru has time to do more than take a quick breath of protest.

The prefect moves without speaking, faster than Oowada expected, and he doesn’t protest when the larger boy grabs his jacket and pulls it free as he goes by. He drops to the edge of the bed, sits perfectly upright like he’s in a chair and waiting further orders, and Oowada can’t bite back a laugh before he speaks again.

“Take off your boots,” he manages, shedding his own coat and dropping it to the floor along with Ishimaru’s. He’s a lot less careful about getting onto the bed than Ishimaru was; Oowada just climbs on from the other side, only realizing his own shoes are still on when they get tangled in the top sheet and he has to pause to toe them off. Ishimaru is barely halfway down the front of one boot by the time Oowada reaches him, his spine curved up to press visible against his back as he fusses with the laces. Oowada comes in behind him, hooks one leg around the other boy so his thigh is pressing hard against the prefect’s, and kisses the raised edge in the center of Ishimaru’s back.

The smaller boy shudders until Oowada’s mouth but he doesn’t pull away, just keeps tugging his shoes free while Oowada wiggles his hand in against bare chest. He can feel Ishimaru’s breathing pressing against his ribcage, too fast and arrhythmic with adrenaline, and when he smiles against the other’s skin Ishimaru chokes on a breath that is almost a laugh.

“Your boots are stupid,” Oowada says, sliding his hand down to press against the front of Ishimaru’s pants, and the prefect stutters on his response.

“I thi -- I think I agree with you.”

“‘S cause I’m right,” Oowada says. It’s a little difficult to handle the buttons on the front of Ishimaru’s slacks one-handed, but this angle is actually better than facing the other boy directly, and the prefect is at  _least_  as distracted by what he’s doing as Oowada is slowed by the odd position. Ishimaru keeps stumbling over his breathing, hissing on an inhale or sighing an exhale, and he’s only just pulling his foot free from his first boot by the time Oowada gets his fingers inside his pants.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ishimaru says, his voice going high and panicked with strain. “I have -- I still have one more to go.”

“Leave it,” Oowada suggests, kissing against Ishimaru’s back again. This time he scrapes his teeth over the exposed skin and Ishimaru moans. Oowada can feel the other boy’s cock go harder under his fingers, and when he grins and curls his fingers into almost-a-grip on the other’s length Ishimaru whines in a range Oowada didn’t think he could hit.

“I said leave it,” Oowada repeats, and Ishimaru shudders under his mouth.

“I can’t, I have to…” What the prefect has to do Oowada’s not sure, but he’s fumbling with the laces on his second boot with speed if not any sort of grace, and that’s good enough to earn him another minute of patience from the larger boy.

Patience isn’t his strongest suit by any means, though, and his fingers keep moving even though his mouth stays quiet. By the time Ishimaru gets his second boot unlaced halfway, his hands are shaking so Oowada can feel the movement all along his spine. The larger boy has his hand closed entirely around Ishimaru’s length; he can’t quite find a rhythm with his wrist caught between the other boy’s hip and chest, but the minimal movement he is managing is enough that he thinks Ishimaru is in real danger of finishing before he even gets his boot off.

Then the prefect moves, shifts his weight sharply to jerk his boot free, and leans back against Oowada so he can lift his hips off the bed and wiggle free of his pants. Whatever self-consciousness he had is gone, at least for the moment. He twists so fast Oowada doesn’t have time to adjust; one moment he’s got his mouth against the other boy’s skin and his hand sliding erratically over his cock and the next Ishimaru is coming towards him, balanced shaky on his knees on the mattress and reaching to catch his fall on Oowada’s shoulder. They nearly go backwards together before the larger boy catches their weight and goes sideways so they end up lying across the bed together. Ishimaru is curving forward against him, fitting their hips and chests and legs together, and when he rocks hard into the other boy Oowada’s not sure if it’s the shameless desperation of the movement or the sensation against the front of his jeans that makes him gasp.

Ishimaru blinks and Oowada can see the focus come back to his eyes for a moment. The prefect blushes hard and hot all over his face and he starts to cringe in embarrassment before Oowada gets his hand back around his length and the shyness disappears in a breathless groan that goes straight to Oowada’s cock.

“Fuck,” he laughs, sitting up and sliding down the bed so he can maneuver himself between Ishimaru’s legs. The prefect is alternating between violent blushing and unabashed gasping and Oowada’s not sure if he wants to jerk off to Ishimaru’s reaction or laugh. Not that it matters at the moment, with the other boy lying across his bed and Oowada kneeling between his legs. Oowada watches Ishimaru’s face, strokes his hand up along the other boy’s length as he sees focus coming back into the prefect’s eyes, and Ishimaru’s expression collapses out of panic into pleasure like Oowada’s flicking a switch.

He does laugh at that, but that’s not enough to bring the prefect back into self-consciousness, and as he finds a pattern to the movement of his hand Ishimaru adjusts to match him, his breathing falling into the gaps of motion and his hips rocking up to meet Oowada’s grip. It’s intoxicating to have the other boy adjusting himself so entirely to Oowada’s actions, to say nothing of the effect of seeing such uncontrolled  _want_  over the strait-laced prefect’s face, of all people. Ishimaru’s not even speaking, at least not coherently; he’s limiting himself to gasps and half-voiced moans, though those are loud enough that Oowada’s glad for the soundproofing in the walls. He brings his free hand to his mouth to lick his index finger; Ishimaru’s not looking at him, the prefect’s eyes are fixed on the ceiling, so when Oowada brings his spit-slick hand down to the other boy’s entrance the smaller boy jumps at the contact, startled enough to come back to awareness for a moment.

“What are you --” he starts before Oowada talks over him.

“Just relax, okay?”

“But you’re --” Ishimaru burbles over him, his voice rising into confusion before Oowada slides his finger inside the other boy and his words cut off into a startled squeak.

“Relax,” he says again, because good  _fuck_  Ishimaru’s tight around his finger. There’s a joke in there, enough to make him laugh sharp in spite of his distraction, but the prefect is looking like he’s not sure if he’s intrigued or scared and Oowada needs him to go in the right direction when he makes up his mind. “You’ve never done this before.”

It’s not a question but Ishimaru still goes shocking red again and stutters in flustered embarrassment as he tries to form a response. “ _No_ , of -- of course I haven’t, why  _would_  I?”

“Cause it feels good,” Oowada offers with perfect sincerity, and curls his finger to press gently inside the other boy. Ishimaru’s eyes go wide and stunned and he manages to get out “ _Oh_ ,” the word so low and soaked with pleasure that Oowada grunts and shifts his weight so he can dig his cock against his own ankle, just for the minimal friction it grants.

He can’t really move the hand inside Ishimaru very much, but it doesn’t take much -- every time he so much as shifts the prefect groans with all the resonant shock of newly-discovered sensation, and when Oowada starts to stroke over his length again the other boy drops a hand over his mouth in a half-thought effort to curb the wailing moan he makes. It doesn’t do much good, but it doesn’t need to; Oowada’s heartrate is speeding with every sound from Ishimaru’s throat. By the time he feels the other boy’s boy go tense as he comes up on the edge of climax he’s grimacing at the lack of sensation against his own erection, and it’s only the way Ishimaru arches up off the mattress when he comes that gives him the focus to keep pumping his hand over the other boy through the last ripples of his orgasm.

Ishimaru whimpers as Oowada draws his hand free, although the larger boy does his best to go slow and carefully. Still, he only barely has his jeans open when Ishimaru twists sideways and up into a sitting position, and the other boy is reaching for him even though he blushes hard at the mess over his stomach and harder when his fingers brush against Oowada’s length.

Oowada sighs at the long-anticipated pleasure of the other boy’s touch against his cock and reaches out to rest his hand gently on Ishimaru’s hip. His mouth fits in against the prefect’s collarbone even though their legs are a tangled mess, and Ishimaru trembles in reaction.

“You okay?” Oowada asks. The other boy nods sharply into his shoulder before he can form an answer, so Oowada is smiling before he hears Ishimaru’s voice.

“Yes.” There is a pause but Oowada can feel the tension of a question in the other boy’s skin and stays quiet, shuts his eyes and waits while Ishimaru’s fingers find a half-formed rhythm over his length.

“Did you -- how did you -- know that that felt good?”

Oowada laughs. “I have a different crowd than you do.” He pauses to consider. “Or a crowd at all, I guess. People talk. I experimented.” He hesitates again before he continues. “You can actually...well, I mean, with two guys, if you do it right you can fuck each other that way.”

He is expecting a violent reaction from the other boy, though he’s not sure what. Ishimaru pauses, his hand going still so Oowada has to bite back a demand to  _keep going, for fuck’s sake_ , and takes a breath that shakes audibly to Oowada’s ear.

Then he starts moving again, and Oowada breathes again in relief even before the prefect says, “Can...could we?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Oowada blurts, his hand going tight against Ishimaru’s hip before he can control the movement.

“We don’t have to --” Ishimaru backpedals and Oowada has to talk over him to be heard.

“ _No_ , no, yes, yes we can try it, I’m just surprised you’re…” He clears his throat and stops. “Yeah. I mean. You’re…” His mind offers up an image of Ishimaru under him, starts to imagine what it would feel like to be  _inside_  the other boy, how Ishimaru would feel inside  _him_ , and his sentence cuts off in a high-pitched whine as he bucks up hard against the other boy’s hand around him.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and deliberately takes a careful breath and loosens his hold on Ishimaru’s hip. The other boy is breathing hard too, he notices distantly, but he sounds calm in comparison to Oowada’s own panting inhales. “You’re really tight, we’d have to...have to work up to it. And we’d need something more than spit but I -- I think that storeroom has  _anything_ , really.” Ishimaru is moving his hand fast but not hard enough, maybe just from his own preferences, Oowada doesn’t know and doesn’t care right now. “But...but  _yes_ , yes we can try I -- fucking hell, Ishi, tighten your  _grip_.”

He considers apologizing for being so abrupt but his blood is  _aching_  under his skin, everything is drawing impossibly, agonizingly tight, and before he has a chance to form the words Ishimaru’s fingers tighten against him and he draws up once, twice, and everything floods away under the rush of pleasure that pours into Oowada’s brain.

Ishimaru doesn’t stop moving while Oowada’s thoughts are whited out; as it turns out the larger boy has to reach down to catch his wrist and hold it still once the friction starts to leech into pain instead of pleasure.

“Okay, okay, enough,” he manages, but he’s smiling, and when he kisses against the prefect’s shoulder Ishimaru relaxes, a tiny bit. Oowada lifts his head and Ishimaru is staring at him, with his mouth marked with the imprint of his own teeth and his cheeks flushed with adrenaline and embarrassment and pleasure all together, and his eyes are so wide and so intense that Oowada leans in to kiss him before he thinks about it. Ishimaru is still tense -- he doesn’t lean back as much as Oowada expects him to, and he sucks in a breath of surprise against the other boy’s mouth -- but his lips are soft, and his tongue is hot and slick against Oowada’s, and when the larger boy pushes the prefect tips back to the bed under him.

“Next time,” Oowada says as he pulls back, pleasure still echoing through his veins and his lips tingling from the pressure of Ishimaru’s. “Next time, I promise, okay?” Ishimaru blinks up at him, and when he smiles it bursts over his whole face like a mask shattering apart.

“Okay,” he says, and Oowada leans back in to kiss him again.


End file.
